Thursday, February 26, 2009

I just realized that February is almost over, and greeted that thought with a cold chill and deep dread.

And then I responded to that thought with, 'Come ON get over your bad-ass moping self already. You can't have an annual springtime depression. If you can see it coming, you can avoid it.'And then: This is not a head-on collision anymore.And then: Deja vu.

Elijah would have been six years old on March 31st, 2009.But he won't.

So if you are looking for another train wreck raw experience, hopefully evolved....then perhaps you have come to the right place this month - hang on!If you are one of my thirty one fourteen faithful (OR RANDOM) readers who has given up on me because I cannot seem to:

post regularly

post anything of content

post about life

post about reality

post enough about death

stop posting about death

do any of that shit right

...well then, welcome! Welcome back wholeheartedly, because all of those things are true, which makes you all right. Instead of me.

And this next month is sure to be a lovely walk through the blacks and browns of my poo-filled emotions. And the lovely lilacs and blues and vanillas which are Elijah.

Monday, February 23, 2009

Okay, in my daily Craigslist search for something to fill the void left by the Christmas tree a chaise to replace the crappy chair I refuse to return to that spot, I found a fainting couch.Seriously, I am in love.

Not sure if I am more in love with the name or the actual item. The fact that I will not, and can not spend $1400 on a piece of furniture right now, unless that furniture is attached to a car, is hardly relevant.

Think about the possibilities. I could have spells. Right before having to make dinner would be a great time to have a spell and take to the fainting couch. Or right about when Mr. Bubbles fills the room with a special aroma, right before a board meeting, etc....the possibilities are endless.

See how I drew myself fainting? I could totally faint. Or just have 'a spell'. I put a tiara on me to show that I am the kind of person who has time to faint on couches made specifically for that purpose. Also a little heart to show how much I love the couch.

Also? In love with Picnik. (Photoshop for dummies or the technically challenged.)

Sunday, February 22, 2009

The good:I have long had a fascination with anything Hawaiian, and although Hansen's Disease is most certainly not of Hawaiian origin, what happened on Molokai is both mind-bendingly horrifying and intriguing.My favorite books are a combination of books; for me the read was nearly a life-changing event.'Molokai'; fictional characters and story in a historically accurate setting, beautifully written by Allan Brennert. After reading Molokai, I then read, 'The Colony', written by John Tayman; a non-fiction piece spanning a century of historical documentation and following the stories of the residents of Kalaupapa.

I am very happy to report that Father Damien de Veuster will be canonized by the Catholic Church on October 11, 2009, becoming Saint Damien.

*********************************************************************The Bad:Speaking of large families with public notoriety (and no I am not talking about Octomom), I clicked on this video yesterday. You know - it says 'gift of song' and I am a music teacher, if not full of cynicism I can appreciate a good gift of song along with the best of them.But this clip just made me squirmingly uncomfortable.The small dark children are obviously being forced to sit there, feign cheerfulness (fail), and endure the impromptu Sunday school concert by the shining white faces.And it makes me wonder about the producers....what were they thinking? The kids just do whatever the glory of their dad tells them to do, but the producers had a choice here to air it or cut it.Wow.

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The Ugly:I don't write too much about political issues on this blog; not because I don't have very strong opinions, but because there are far more eloquent bloggers on these topics and I do not wish to embarrass myself with the repetition of my favorite superlatives and the use of inappropriate language which I resort to far too often when the subject arises.

But I think it's safe to say that you understand what I am talking about when I express my extreme frustration about the misuse of funds in a corporate world - a very special fantasy world in which bankers and CEOs are rewarded for there mere existence with very special money which has been reserved for very special them - as the economy crumbles around us and most of the humans serfs are scraping by and trying to eek out an existence in a bleak future.Our president is sick of it as well.At least one third of my friends are out of work.Which is why I cannot stomach the deluded news that Morgan Stanley and Citigroup will be paying out THREE BILLION dollars to their brokers, just to stay on. Oh hey - your salary isn't enough to stay here and work? No problem, we will give you money just to pledge your faith in us - because we wouldn't want to stir up an investor scare, now would we?You know, the motivation behind this just brings to mind what Michele Bachman complained about last week, and perhaps what we should all really be focusing on here, the real problem: "we're running out of rich people in this country."

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

We have been lucky enough to stay at a very generous friend's cliff house on the north Sonoma coast - it is the perfect getaway for a weekend, and we spend our time soaking in the oversize hot tub, playing games with the kids (no TV or wi-fi!) and hiking when weather permits.

This weekend marked our second visit up there, and I loved being there as much in stormy weather as I did in our 80 degrees heatwave a few weeks ago.The drive, however, is freakishly scary in a wind and hail storm, so we waited the storm out an extra day and played vacation house for a long weekend.

In one of the storm respites, we managed to get the kids to walk up the road to what we call 'Fairyland', a very large natural cave system created by windblown cypress trees on the edge of a cliff. Apparently, since our last visit to the Fairyland, Bubbles created his own version of what those caves really hold.

He ran into the darkness of a cave and came running back, dramatically shouting, "Oh NO! Lions! LIONS! Dere's a LION!! In da CAVE! Gonna GETCHYOU!! RUN RUN RUN!!"I played along with him for a few minutes, then he kept talking about it and worked himself into a froth and started panicking for real. Of course, all I could do was giggle and videotape his terror.

Here, he warns me about the Lion coming out of the cave and how it is going to eat my pictures (my camera). Luckily (or, disappointingly, depending how you look at it), only Supergirl and Daddy emerged from the cave. I have no idea where he gets it, and I am quite sure it has nothing to do with my fear of San Francisco tigers.

Monday, February 09, 2009

Well, it's a sad thing for me to announce, but this recession depression has gotten the best of us, and we have to move back to Grammie's farm.

It's tragic, because we can't fit too much in the truck, and we'll have to get rid of most of our belongings. We did buy a lot of crap absolutely necessary indulgences while caught up in the California housing and credit boom re-mortgaging out our home, and most of it will have to go. But we will make do, and somehow make our new digs look like home again.

I mean sure, we'll have to sleep in the slaughter house dairy barn, but since the dust storms, the milk done all dried up and the cows is all gone to live with Grampie Up There.

We sure do like our privacy, so the kids have their own bedroom out on Grammie's front porch. It's been months since any drop of rain has fallen, so we'll hang that tarp when we come to it.

If y'all want to come visit, we've set up a lovely guest room in the ol' chicken coop (only $250/night for friends and family!)(we gotta buy our crack grits, you know).

We didn't have any room for the tricycles or learnin' books, but I couldn't bear to get rid of my $5000 couch, so we did manage to squeeze it into our quilt-filled pick-up truck when we left the state.

(Whaddya mean there aren't any toys? See those papier mache birds? If those kids so much as drool on them they are dead meat. Toys!)

(Disclaimer of reality: Every photo here is lifted from the most recent Anthropol*gie catalog. Their art director is apparently giving us a vision of things to come...)

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

I recently found a huge file of photos of Elijah. I had either forgotten about them or convinced myself that they didn't exist....who knows.I can hardly describe what finding these has felt like....a gift...a peace....a stirring....a mindfuck...another unwanted but polite visit from Grief....

A mother.I was his mother too....wispy shadows swirling...his life flickered by....his scent hangs on my shoulders.....my head in his cloud.

The gifts are in the flickers; each one gifts me a memory....we had some fun with that baby: